Sundays
by bare-footed-muse
Summary: Once a week, every week, there is a silent battle between Merlin and the morning sunshine. One-shot, featuring a morning Merlin, flower presses, Nimueh's hobbies and bargin artichokes. Just a bit of character rambling, and for once, not slash. Enjoy.


**I hate Sundays.  
How better to fume about them than in a good ol' Merlin fic? :)  
Written as an outlet on a seriously long Sunday afternoon- hope you like :)**

**Just a bit of character rambling, really.  
Read, review, enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. I can distinguish dreams from reality :P**

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Merlin hates Sundays.

Once a week, every week, he wakes up with his teeth gritted and simply glares at the morning, daring it to progress any further into the day.

But of course, it always does.

Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays- it's not as if he has a problem with any of these. In fact, on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays he awakes positively cheerful.

Sundays, however…

Merlin _hates_ Sundays.

Sundays are the days of cringing last-night memories, stinking headaches and Gaius' foul cure for them. (And Merlin hates hangovers. Especially when it's so bad he can't actually remember the last night memories.)

But most of all, Sundays are the days of silence.

Sundays are so _empty._

Merlin often wonders _where_ exactly everyone goes on Sundays; _why_ exactly they go on Sundays. Sundays are restless, full of things that never get finished- things that he can never actually get started.

Which leaves the mind to wander unrestrained.

And, well, where his mind goes is somewhere Merlin really wishes it wouldn't go.

So it was, that on one such Sunday, Merlin found himself, once more, fully occupied with doing absolutely nothing. Gaius was out. Gwen was out. Even Morgana and Arthur had disappeared off to do some kind of confidential royal stuff with Uther.

Merlin scowled. He was wandering the sunlit streets of the upper town (where there were no shops nor stalls selling _anything_) as the sun twiddled its thumbs idly.

"You! Boy!"

What was this? _Excitmentdangeroffersofbargainartichokesanythinganythingwhat??_

"Where are you going?"

"Nowhere." Unfortunately.

The guard shot him a suspicious glare. "Well don't go too far. Prince Arthur seems to think there's something dangerous in the wood."

Irritation flared in Merlin at the guard's sceptical tone, but it was quickly doused as he remembered that Arthur, like everyone else, had _abandoned_ him to his own devices. On a Sunday.

"Thanks for the warning."

Muttering mutinously, Merlin continued walking. That would probably be the most excitement he had today.

The path eventually led to the woods. The leafy hands brushed his head and absently, Merlin remembered the last time he was here. He and Arthur had been hunting, as usual, and unable to find any kind of large game, Arthur had resorted to Rabbit traps. Of course, he'd blamed it on Merlin when after two hours they hadn't caught a single rabbit and then when they'd been unable to even find the last trap-

"OUCH!!"

So _that _was where the trap had got to.

"Ah-aa! Aargh!!" Prising the trap off, Merlin collapsed to the ground, nursing his swollen ankle. "Ow."

"You should look where you're going in future."

Merlin leapt up, staring right into the cold pale face of-

"What are you doing here?"

"I have as much right to be here as you, Merlin. Would you begrudge me a simple walk in the woods?"

"No, well yes, but you-"

"Sit with me." Nimueh patted the mossy log next to her. When Merlin didn't move, she rolled her eyes. "Come _on_, Merlin, it's not as if I have anything planned for today."

"Does anyone?" He muttered, as he grudgingly sat. As far away from her as possible.

"So how are you?" Merlin treated her to his most disbelieving glare.

"When did _you_ become so friendly?"

"Oh Merlin, you act like I have some kind of personal vendetta against everyone."

"You tried to kill me."

Her mouth twisted in distaste. "Collateral damage. I thought you were a nobody."

There was a pause. The average Sunday sunlight filtered greenly through the trees, highlighting the contrast of the leaves against Nimueh's scarlet clothes.

"Nice dress," he said without thinking.

"Thank you. I've always been quite good with a needle."

"You made it yourself?" His eyebrows arched with interest.

"I make all my clothes myself," she replied brightly. "It's a kind of hobby."

"Wow," He was slightly stunned. "I suppose it must get quite repetitive just planning Camelot's destruction all the time?"

"Quite."

Another pause.

"So do you have any hobbies?"

To Nimueh's intense surprise, Merlin reddened.

"Do you?"

"Well…" The red spread to his ears and he shifted uncomfortably. "Apart from, you know, the obvious-" he waved his hands about in a magical fashion- "-there is one thing…"

Nimue waited for elaboration. Merlin noticed her eyes were _extraordinarily_ blue… just like the flowers in the woods- it made him feel a little… strange. Were the colours always this bright?

"Tell me, Merlin… tell me…now." His words started to wander from his mouth. He was certain he had not given them permission to do so.

"I mean Gaius always has loads of spare flowers, and so does Gwen, it's not as if I go out for them or anything, and it's a nice relief, you know? There's nothing heroic about flower pressing, after all, and I-"

Eggs might have fried on Merlin's face. "Don't tell Arthur."

Her smirk was no comfort.

"I hate Sundays," he said.

This was absolutely _not_ a change of subject.

Mercifully, she let it drop.

"Really?"

"There's never… _anything_. Anywhere. Everything stops on Sundays. Do you know what I mean?"

She pondered this for a moment. "Yes, I think I do. I never liked them," she added with distaste.

Breaking into his best goofy smile, he rested his chin on his hands. "I'm glad someone finally thinks the same!" He frowned. "Why does that someone have to be you?"

"I could always… liven it up," Her entire form seemed to tighten and poise. A crooked half-smile touched her livid mouth. Distorting it.

"What do you mean?"

"Teasing them is so much fun. Especially Uther. Or your pretty little Arthur? A little crack in their monotonous Sunday. What do you think?"

And suddenly, this Nimue was something crouching, animalistic, savage. A raw wounded creature unfurling in the homemade dress.

_Oh dear._

"Well, to be honest…" Merlin scratched his left ear uncomfortably. "Thanks, but no thanks."

She seemed genuinely disappointed.

"Well, if you ever change your mind… we could have fun Merlin. They're just little playthings."

A weak smile. "Well, it was nice to talk." He gave a hearty half wave, before turning and not quite running back the way he came. Avoiding the bite of the rabbit trap.

Merlin hates Sundays.

Sundays are the days of cringing last-night memories, stinking headaches and Gaius' foul cure for them. (And Merlin hates hangovers. Especially when it's so bad he can't actually remember the last night memories.)

But most of all, Sundays are the days of silence.

Sundays are so _empty._

But sometimes, he thinks, the silence isn't so bad. It's better than screams at any rate.

And for certain, it is not so girly to be collecting flowers to press if no-one is watching.

Maybe, Merlin thinks, Sunday's aren't so bad.


End file.
